There are few games that are as enticing as “Whatever happened to…” No matter how big or small their cultural status is, everyone has their own personal accomplishments to account for. In the realm of pop culture, it’s especially addictive to do it for celebrities whose careers peaked maybe 10-30 years ago. What are they doing with their life? Without becoming too invasive, I suppose the answer that I want is whether or not they followed this career to a logical end. Once they had surpassed their use as cash cows, are they still making entertainment because it’s their passion, or is there some dark and foreboding twist somewhere in the mix?
More often than not, I find some optimism. Despite the faded stars, those who believed in themselves continued to thrive. Some of them matured and started their own families, or changed careers into something more fulfilling. Sure, there are those who will undoubtedly end their stories with depressing outcomes, but more often than not it’s just a part of life. Our focus can only be on so many people at once, and the further outside of the youthful demographic you get, the less likely you are to achieve that status.
Then there’s Louise Harman, better known as Lady Sovereign, a.k.a. S.O.V., a.k.a. The Biggest Midget in the Game. Clocking in at 5 ft. 1 in. (which Bing tells me is the same height as Lady Gaga), there was a point where she was going to be one of the great British exports of Grime alongside The Streets and Dizzee Rascal. She was going to take over the world with her sneer and her ability to rap just as fierce as her male counterparts. Early in her career, she got called “Feminem” because of her (somewhat lazy) similarities to Eminem before being discovered by Jay-Z. She was one of the first women signed to Def Jam Records, doing collaborations with the likes of Missy Elliott. With a number one video for “Love Me or Hate Me” on Total Request Live by the time she was 21, it seemed like she was a legend in the making.
And yet, if you look at the big picture, she only had a five-year span. Wikipedia claims that her career lasted between 2001 and 2010, but her big moment came following a series of E.P.’s like “Vertically Challenged” and “Blah Blah” that built this myth that she was just as tough as the male rappers. Her charisma was undeniable and you could understand why she had a bright future with 2006’s “Public Warning.” It was a phenomenal album that found her waxing poetic with her antagonistic slang and infectious melodies that played to her strengths. You can argue that it was all a bit silly, serving more as a masterpiece of braggadocio, but British rappers weren’t all that respected in America, and Lady Sovereign was looking to be one of the few to pull it off.
Following my first listen to “Jigsaw” in at least eight years, I worried that I had just grown out of her charms. To be blunt, “Jigsaw” is a mess of an album that feels like a trainwreck in motion. Few of the songs work and the ones that do often have a handful of aspects that could’ve been better. In my mind, “Public Warning” was close to flawless for how it was this ball of energy, exploding with personality and wit that is infectious. How could she, in just three years, go from that to “Jigsaw,” which sounds like a cry for help? It feels like two different people.
Thankfully, re-listening to songs like “Hoodie,” I still find that excitement in place. While she ostensibly lacks the clarity of great rappers, she has this energy that you can’t help but feel. As a teenager in 2006, I understood it well enough. I wasn’t as bothered by her weird obsession with incorporating nursery rhymes into songs about being bad-ass. It was this effort to make it all hardcore, to be awesome. And yet, “Public Warning” was her sole album on Def Jam. She’d go independent for “Jigsaw” on, ahem, Midget Records.
I suppose when I ask “What happened to Lady Sovereign,” it’s a question that I ask about everything beyond the year 2007. After the initial buzz died down, I wonder what caused her career to change paths so directly. More importantly, why has her post-“Jigsaw” career been full of emptiness? I can accept this as a transition album, where she’s trying to find new ways to express herself. There are portions that are admirable if viewed as tales of maturity. The issue is that, 11 years later, I can answer the question but without any satisfying or concrete answers. Frankly, it reads more as sad at times.
One definite irony between “Public Warning” and “Jigsaw” can be found in her biggest single “Love Me or Hate Me,” where she declares “I can’t dance and I really can’t sing.” Cut to 2009, and you have her commenting on her desire to sing on “Guitar” and having singles like “I Got You Dancing.” It’s not a bad thing, but it’s an identity crisis for a rapper, especially one with such a radical reinvention. Given that the instrumentation was also a fusion of hip-hop and electronica. When asked why she called the album “Jigsaw,” she’ll even say that it’s reflective of her style. It’s a mix of things trying to figure each other out.
It also doesn’t help that you follow “Public Warning” and its aggressive 80 words per minute vibe to the opener “Let’s Be Mates,” which slows things down. It’s a kooky song that makes the notion that:
I’m weird
You’re weird
Let’s be mates
The rest of the album plays on something more friendly, and that’s not a terrible way to go. It’s all a bit jarring though when you come off of a tomboy lashing. Still, for something that will go on to feature a very strange mix of food and eroticism in “Food Play,” it’s an album whose only weird traits are inherently off-putting. It’s playful while also being too isolating for audiences who just want a fun record. Sure, you could dance to every song on “Jigsaw” without much problem, though the closer you get to things, the more you realize that this is a ship without an anchor. There is no focus. No song flows into another. It’s at best a compilation of ideas, reflecting 10 ideas that Lady Sovereign wanted to share with the world.
One of the key reasons that things may be different is because Lady Sovereign matured in the years since. She was in relationships that caused her to enter depression and question her self-worth. Most of the album is a response to her personal life, her need to focus on mental health and bring positivity to the world. Maybe it was a reflection that she had exhausted the persona, but the album doesn’t have the urgency that is needed to make it click.
It does, however, have one of the oddest samples of the decade. On “So Human,” she uses The Cure’s “Close to Me” to extrapolate on her depression. It’s this mix of melancholy and upbeat melody that never quite clicks. It sounds goofy, making her revelations a bit confusing. On a better album, it would be a cheeky b-side. Here it comes across as a highlight for reasons both good and bad. The good: it’s definitely memorable and has a life-affirming message (“Doesn't it feel much better when you've had a better day than yesterday?”). The bad is that this is among crazy lines (“You should of seen me running out the studio like Forrest Gump”) and a sample of The Cure that doesn’t sometimes gel with her higher-pitched voice.
To be honest, the next song “Jigsaw” is the closest this album gets to feeling cohesive. It’s the moment where her emotions finally are allowed to be sincere, and you get the sense that she’s trying to work through something:
So I'm kinda pissed off
I miss the way we use to get off
And the way you that you held my hand
When I threw a strop
Now I'm feelin kinda lost
Again, Lady Sovereign is more drawn to singing, helping her pain sound more genuine. For this one song, I understand her clearly. It’s a frustration that is organic and not rooted in a variety of novelties that she previously used to make herself sound edgy. Here, she gives her all and produces a song that feels ahead of its time.
It’s in part because music in 2009 wasn’t as emotionally open as it is today. Nobody wanted to hear Lady Sovereign be vulnerable. It went against her image, and it didn’t help that the music style was so terribly different from before. Maybe in 2020, an album like “Jigsaw” would be more acceptable, finding a niche alongside more heart-driven rappers like Juice WRLD that aren’t ashamed to express their inner pain.
Before I transition into her post-“Jigsaw” career, I will say that this album isn’t a total bust in terms of fun S.O.V. songs. “Student Union” is a jumpy song with an underlying ska melody that finds her growing antagonistic. It’s vital and makes you understand that she could’ve kept going, occasionally doing these songs. It’s a party track that has all of the highlights, finding her more alive than anywhere else on the album. Where songs like “Pennies” and “I Got the Goods!!” are decent ideas poorly executed, “Student Union” is intentionally messy and designed to be sung along to at concerts. While it does seem ridiculous to think of people yelling “student union bar,” it’s still a sign of what this record could’ve been.
That is what the issue with “Jigsaw” is. As an example of an artist striking out, it’s a record in search of a theme, a focus that would prove she was more than a one-hit wonder. At times it’s wanting to be a party record (“I Got You Dancing”), emotional exploration (“Jigsaw”), and something even more avant-garde (“Food Play”). It doesn’t feel like her heart is totally there, and yet you notice when she has enough passion to deliver something substantial. It’s the type of moments that make this album difficult to write off, and abundantly sad.
So, to finish answering the question, what happened to Lady Sovereign?
On the one hand, I’m relieved to learn that it isn’t a result of financial losses. The most popular answer for her absence following 2010 is the death of her mother. She also had various legal issues that included assault charges that proved to her that she needed to slow down. Finally, some people claim that she had stomach pains that doctors couldn’t figure out. That was what was keeping her from making new music. As recent as 2016, there have been reports that she’s been trying to come up with ideas for new music.
To give a literal answer, I think that Lady Sovereign is doing fine. I admire her for following her own path. When she says she doesn’t care, it’s clear that’s true. She still wears that sideways ponytail, even in her late-30s. She’s also on Twitter and Instagram, connecting with fans and still claiming that she’s trying to work something out. Given that The Streets just released their first album in nine years, it makes sense that she could be due for a comeback.
What does Lady Sovereign in 2020 sound? There is a sense in me that she’s probably more mature, less obsessed with being confrontational, and seeking attention. Whatever she does will follow her own vision, likely having an underlying social consciousness and optimism for the future. I don’t know much about her life since 2009, but if “Jigsaw” gives any insight, it’s that she can give things another try, to make an album that feels more authentic to her identity. Everyone, for better or worse, is a mess in their 20s and some express themselves worse than others. I don’t fault Lady Sovereign for making a bad record.
This is, of course, well-wishing given that I’ve read articles going back four years now about her talking about working on ideas. I imagine what it would’ve been like to be online at that moment, seeing those words and feeling like she was about to blow up again. What does she sound like now? I’d hate to wonder what it’s like to wait for those years. Sure, she seems happy now and her Instagram seems rather enjoyable, but now I get to wait in line for a potential surprise. I want to believe that it’ll be her most confident work to date. I’ll let you know when that day finally comes or, at the very least, another song drops.
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